


Musophobia

by Yeomanrand



Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Phobias, Threesome - F/M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is desperately afraid of rats.  Elizabeth is there to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by shinychimera. For the "Major Illness" square on my hc_bingo card.

"El?"

Elizabeth rolled over, pulling the pillow along with her, and wondered where Peter was.

"El, please, wake up."

Neal, she decided, was Peter's problem, especially at -- she opened her eyes, checked the digital clock on the hotel nightstand and smothered her groan in goosedown. Seven minutes after three in the morning. Ugh.

Although she _was_ awake now, damn him, and she could hear Neal's breathing ragged behind her in the bed.

"El?" His voice shook, too, and he wasn't stretched out warm along her back like he usually did when Peter left the two of them alone. "Please?"

Or stretched out at all, she realized, because his voice was coming from somewhere near the headboard. She reached behind her and encountered Neal's feet; he _squeaked_ and pulled them away from the light touch.

"Dear Lord, Neal, it's just me," she said, rolling over, peering at his darker shape hunched up against the headboard in the dark room.

"Sorry," he breathed; she finally sorted his shadow enough to realize he had his knees drawn to his chest.

"You sound like you've been running a marathon," she said, pushing herself up on her elbow and setting her hand firmly on his shin. He shook under her touch. "What's the matter?"

"There's a rat," he half-whispered, "in the room."

"A rat?" She let go of his leg, reaching for the light switch, and still heard him swallow.

She snapped on the light, and Neal said, "Oh, God," and curled further in on himself, against her back.

It was huddled in the corner of the room, black fur, beady eyes, naked tail and all. Only not so naked, El knew, and she was torn between soothing Neal and laughing. The poor thing looked just as terrified as Neal, caught with no easy hiding place. She started to roll out of bed, but Neal grabbed at her shirt.

"I'm trying to get rid of it for you," she said, not quite able to keep the chuckle out of her voice, "but you have to let me up so I can."

"It's not funny, El," he said, reproachful under the fear and strangely child-like.

She stroked his hand, watched the rat sniff the air, sobering as she wondered about the child Neal had been, what fears he'd had to confront in the dark nights of his mysterious past. She willed the rat toward whatever narrow entryway had allowed it into the room, but it was equally paralyzed by the light and their presence.

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me up, Neal."

He reluctantly let go, and she got out of the bed, stopping to pick up the narrow bedside trash can. She could hear Neal practically wheezing with panic, and he was very still. She approached the rat; to her surprise it let her get within a foot -- what looked like easy scooping distance. But she knew better and instead set the can down on its side and backed off; there was a little bit of the rind left from the brie the three of them had shared earlier and she hoped it would be enough to convince the little creature to step inside.

Trap set, she pulled the thick room service menu out of the nightstand drawer and settled on the foot of the bed to wait. The quivering ball of Neal gave up a little whimper when they heard the rat's nails on the metal trash can, but El counted another three slow breaths before she got up and slowly slid the can upright, slipping the menu over the upper lip.

The rat scrabbled around the inside of the can, but El held her contraption to her side, hand firmly clasping the "lid" in place. She'd gone to sleep in a pair of Peter's old sweats and a tattered t-shirt, so she was decent enough, but she wasn't sure she should leave Neal. He had the pillow over his ears and his breathing was fast and shallow; she was worried he was about to pass out.

She headed to the door with her burden, shifted things around so she could hold the menu down with her chin, and pulled the handle.

Peter came inside with the door, a bucket of ice in his hands and a shocked look on his face. El caught the door with her foot, grabbed the ice from him, and leaned arm and chin forward so he had no choice but to take the trashcan from her.

"What's --"

"There's a rat in there," she said, briskly, and he clamped his hand down on the makeshift lid, "that _you _are going to take downstairs to the night manager. You will then explain to him _why_ he is going to upgrade our reservation and that we expect to be moved to our new accommodations in no more than half an hour."

She cocked her head at him significantly, and he shook his and said, "okay."

She watched him walk down the hall, holding the can as far from him as his arms allowed, before closing the door and settling down on the bed next to Neal. He had forced his breathing to a more deliberate calm, but when she stroked a hand down the knobs of his spine, she could feel the trembling tension in the columns of muscle on either side.

"It's gone. We're going to get another room. You're all right."

It took a minute or two of steady rubbing before the muscles under her hand finally started to relax. Neal uncoiled slowly, finally pulled the pillow back under his head properly, tried to look like a restless sleeper getting comfortable instead of a shell-shocked victim.

"I'm sorry," he said, disturbingly meek.

She shrugged. "Peter's afraid of lizards."

"Really? Breathless curling-up-in-the-fetal-position afraid?"

"No, but when we were in Hawaii and he was startled by a gecko in the shower, he screamed like a little girl and came streaking out into the living room covered in soap suds."

He gave her a tiny smile and rolled closer, setting one hand on her hip. She put her hand on the bed over his other shoulder and leaned over so their noses were nearly touching.

"Better now?" she asked, holding his gaze, willing him to understand how much she and Peter wanted him to feel safe.

He nodded, the grin taking on just a hint of self-deprecation.

"Good." She kissed the tip of his nose and settled down next to him, curling her hand around the back of his neck, her thumb resting behind his ear. There were a thousand things she could have asked, and he would have told her, but she had learned she didn't need to press. She would be his Vanquisher of Rats, and he would find a way to share the reasons for his fear in his own time.


End file.
